


Allow Me to Assist

by mightymads



Series: My Blushes, Watson! [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Job, Established Relationship, Holmes POV, Holmes takes care of Watson, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Porn With Feels, Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Watson is a slut for Holmes’s cock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23381899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightymads/pseuds/mightymads
Summary: Holmes is busy contemplating a case, and Watson is too modest to disturb him, even though the doctor is in need of a sexual release after a long day. Having noticed Watson’s predicament, Holmes follows Watson upstairs to satisfy him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: My Blushes, Watson! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1302107
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	Allow Me to Assist

It was a cold and damp autumn evening, the never-ending rain hammering monotonously against the window-panes. The flickering fire in the grate hardly dispelled the omnipresent chill. Wrapped in the blanket, I was sitting in my armchair, contemplating a case brought to my attention by Lestrade. At first glance, the case wasn’t difficult, and yet some details didn’t make sense. I devised theory after theory, rearranged the pieces of the puzzle this way and that, and still failed to find an answer. All facts were at my fingertips, but the solution escaped me. It was annoying. I had smoked a heap of shag tobacco during the evening and was intending to smoke another during the night.

Aware of my mood, Watson was quiet. He hadn’t remonstrated with me regarding my untouched plate at supper and didn’t try to engage me in a conversation. I was rather grateful for that. My companion was the most considerate of men, always putting my needs ahead of his own. And that evening he was steadfastly ignoring the need he had.

Even though I paid him little heed, I did observe that he was tense after a day in his surgery and making his rounds in the foul weather. He had cast a few wistful glances at me over the pages of the novel in his hands. There was a pent-up restlessness within him which he was suppressing, forcing himself to sit still and make no noise. Once his hand strayed towards the area of his groin, but he checked the movement abruptly and gripped the armrest instead. At last he laid his novel aside, rose from his armchair, and bid me good-night. 

I could hear his steps going to the bathroom. He spent more time there than usual—either he gratified himself or… If it was the second option then his need was pressing indeed. He left the bathroom in half an hour, as he would on occasions he prepared himself for an anal intercourse. John hadn’t been with men before me, and for him being penetrated was an especially intimate experience when he relinquished control and allowed himself to unwind. He needed me but he wouldn’t distract me from my contemplations. My Watson.

Thoughts of the case abandoned, I got to my feet and followed John upstairs. The door of his bedroom was locked which only confirmed my conjecture.

“John?” I called softly and tapped.

“A moment,” came his flustered reply.

After a brief pause he let me in, his cheeks flushed a little. He was in his nightshirt and dressing-gown. There was a tell-tale tenting of the nightshirt—his prick was at a half-stand under it. He smiled ruefully as my gaze travelled from his groin to the lowest drawer of the bedside table where we kept a phallus-shaped toy we occasionally used. The drawer was slightly open.

“Allow me to assist you, my dear fellow,” I said, locking the door again.

He kissed me fiercely, his joy taking my breath away. I put my hands on his hips and brought our groins together. John rubbed against me, the heat of his hardness seeping through the fabric. My trousers and drawers felt more and more confining as my prick swelled with each thrust of John’s hips. When the rhythm faltered, I knelt and dove under the skirt of his nightshirt. I nuzzled his hardening prick, inhaling the heady scent of his arousal. His coarse pubic hair grazed my cheek, making me shiver and tingle. I trailed kisses along his prick until I reached the crown. John gasped quietly when I teased the slit with the tip of my tongue. Then I took him into my mouth as deeply as I could and started to suck in earnest, caressing his bollocks with my hand at the same time. My ministrations quickly coaxed John to a full stand. He moaned and rocked his hips, his rigid prick pushing into my throat. I suppressed my gag reflex, opened up wider and swallowed him deeper. He was as careful as ever. While he knew that my arse could take a decent pounding, he was always gentle with my throat, too gentle even. He wouldn’t risk a more vigorous pace, for the very possibility it might hurt me was unacceptable to him. 

But I wanted him to forget about control, to become undone. I slid my finger across his perineum, from his bollocks to his puckered entrance. Nice and clean, it wasn’t yet slickened with vaseline. He hadn’t used the toy yet, just as I had thought. I pressed my fingertip in, but only just, teasing him. He went completely still as I traced and caressed his rim with my fingers. John gripped my shoulder with a quiet groan and pulled his prick out of my mouth. His hand slipped into the pocket of his dressing-gown, whence he produced a small vaseline tin and passed it to me.

“Patience,” I said, smiling, disentangled myself from under his nightshirt, and rose.

He gazed at me intensely, his blue eyes darkened with lust. His lips were absolutely irresistible; I covered them with mine and ravaged them, divesting John of his clothes. When the kiss ended, he stepped out of the nightshirt pooling around his ankles. The subdued light from the fireplace accented the lines of his body—his powerful shoulders and well-defined arms, his chest and belly covered with gold-brown hair, his sturdy thighs and shapely legs. Indeed, my Watson was perfectly built, stout and muscular. His gorgeous prick stood proudly erect. My own was aching for him, confined uncomfortably by the garments. I undid the flies, took myself in hand, and stroked my prick, devouring John with my eyes.

He gave me a rather cheeky grin, turned, and went slowly towards the fireplace where it was warmer. Fair enough. If I wished to have him naked, he shouldn’t be chilled. The fire flickered merrily behind the screen, making John’s skin glow. John placed his hands on the mantelpiece, bent his back, widened his stance, and stuck out his bum a little. Those taut, round mounds were a work of art, a masterpiece for me alone to admire in private. How could I resist this siren call?

Walking up to him, I considered dropping to my knees at his feet again and applying my mouth to the delectable arse of his. It would be a treat to lick and suck him loose until he begged for my cock. But I could barely contain myself. That kind of a prelude had to be postponed for another time. I craved to fuck him at once.

He hummed in appreciation when I put my arms around his waist and brought our bodies flush together. My prick pressed between his buttocks, I slid it along the cleft, making him hiss with pleasure. He took my left hand and guided it to his nipple which became instantly erect at the touch. It sent electric charge from my fingertips straight down, through my spinal cord to my bollocks and cock. Leaking for him, I could wait no longer. I slathered my prick and his hole thoroughly and discarded the now empty vaseline tin. Then I wrapped my hand around my prick and inserted the tip into his anus. Slowly, carefully I pushed into his tight hot arse; he moaned and whined under his breath as my cock stretched him. He relished being entered like that—for a moment his knees almost gave way. I supported him, pulling him closer to myself and thrusting in deeper until I filled him completely. Panting, he regained his footing while I reached for his cock. It was rock hard, pulsing and moist with pre-ejaculate. His girth felt thick and heavy in my hand.

I started to move within him, very gently at first, dragging my cock along his clenching channel and feeling him open for me. His eyes closed, he was biting his lips, low moans escaping them. I tightened my grip on his cock and frigged him as I was increasing my pace. As much as I loved being taken by my John, I loved to be inside him. It gave him such intense pleasure that he would let go of his composure; his subconscious defenses would fall apart. He always submitted himself to me, unashamed of how needy and vulnerable he was. Every single time I was humbled by the utmost trust he put in me. 

Once he adjusted and was comfortable, I fucked him faster, pumping his stiff cock at the same rhythm. His heat was welcoming, comforting; it engulfed me as I buggered him harder and harder. Stroking his cock, I could feel the swollen veins against my palm. John’s stifled moans turned into whimpers, for he was barely managing to keep his voice quiet. Even though our household knew about us and faithfully guarded our secret, being loud would never do at Baker Street. We could neglect discretion in one of my hiding places, but in our flat we were gentlemen. 

John’s right hand caught mine by the wrist so that I stopped frigging him: he was getting too close to the crisis. I released his prick and circled my arm around his waist, moving slower and hitting his sweet spot gentler, without overwhelming his senses. John sighed luxuriously; tension in his body dissipated, his breath becoming calmer. I pressed myself to him and put my hand over his heart which was thrumming madly. He turned his head, and we kissed, our tongues entwining. Now our rhythm was relaxed, almost lazy, as we savoured the simple happiness our physical union brought us, the consummation of our closeness.

When our lips parted, I kissed John’s neck and then shoulder, lavishing with attention the rugged bullet scar. I longed to feel his skin against mine, yet there was something peculiarly erotic in his being stark naked while I remained fully dressed. John steadied himself, clutching the mantelpiece with both hands again. He was ready for more rough fucking. I obliged and proceeded to slam into him relentlessly so that he sobbed in bliss. He would be sore the next day. Sitting and walking would remind him of our tryst, and he would smile to himself in his consulting-room or on his way to a patient.

Enraptured, John pushed himself towards me, taking my prick in as deep as he could and wiggling his arse. He got what he wanted—my glans titillated the innermost nerve-endings within him while my girth rubbed his prostate. I kept shoving my cock into his hungry hole, rolling my hips and grinding into him.

“Right there, right there,” John murmured breathlessly.

I held him in my arms as tremors ran through his body and he reached the peak. With a low groan he spent hard, thick white spurts hitting the fireplace screen. Gasping, he shuddered from the aftershocks, and I kissed his nape soothingly. He let out a happy, sated sigh, leaning back on me.

To spare him the necessity of going to the bathroom afterwards, I pulled out and slipped my prick between his thighs. It didn’t take me long to finish. In a few thrusts my own crisis swept over me like a flash while John was whispering to me encouraging gentle nothings. It was glorious.

I clutched John to my heart’s content, knowing that he didn’t mind my post-coital clinginess, that he in fact enjoyed it. There was only our mingled heavy breathing and the musky, acrid scent of our release. As we exchanged sloppy kisses, John was getting boneless in my embrace. It was time to tuck him into bed. 

Thankfully, my ever practical and foresighted Watson had brought with him a jug of hot water. By now it was tepid, but we had to make do with that. I cleaned us both quickly, picked up John’s clothes from the floor, and handed him his nightshirt.

Having washed off the streaks of our mixed semen from the fireplace screen, I lingered to kiss John once more—he was already between the sheets.

“I suppose it’s pointless to try and persuade you to stay?” he asked softly.

“I should be able to join you soon,” I promised.

He nodded and pressed my hand.

My surmise proved to be correct. In less than an hour I realised that the solution was absurdly simple. It only needed to be approached from another angle which wouldn’t have occurred to me had my mind not been cleared by the refreshing distraction. I had thought that I had assisted John whereas it turned out to be the other way around.

Ready to retire for the night at last, I ascended the stairs, blessing my Watson and his needs.


End file.
